


The Frog Prince

by hgdoghouse



Category: The Professionals
Genre: First Time, M/M, post episode
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-25
Updated: 2011-11-25
Packaged: 2017-10-26 12:50:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/283330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hgdoghouse/pseuds/hgdoghouse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>set after the episode <i>Rogue</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	The Frog Prince

Post _Rogue_

 

Things had been going so well that Doyle realised he should have been prepared for disaster. The last thing he'd been thinking about was the idea that Barry Martin could turn rogue.

Perhaps that was why Barry was dead, Cowley was on the Seriously Ill List and Bodie had a hole in his shoulder. Although it had taken more than being knocked down a flight of stairs and concussion to stop George Cowley from running CI5 from his hospital bed - and making himself highly unpopular with the nursing staff in the process.

Now they were stuck in headquarters, acting as Cowley's ears and eyes. They'd had to watch everyone else going out to do the interesting work, questioning the families and friends of the men Martin had murdered in the hope that they might get something which would enable them to nobble Culbertson after all.

And Records wasn't a place to inspire much enthusiasm, with a dry, dusty smell that Doyle always associated with failure. Not that he could blame it on Cowley. But they had to do something while they waited for people to report back.

"I hate this," said Doyle. He tossed another file onto the floor - his equivalent of an 'Out' tray.

"Who'd've thought." Bodie didn't look up from the pages he was skimming.

Doyle thought the better of what he had been about to say when he saw the pensive set of Bodie's profile, his vitality quashed by more than discomfort from his shoulder.

"Put your sling back on, there's no one here to impress except me."

Bodie gave him two fingers, the effect ruined when he used the wrong hand and winced as his shoulder twinged.

Doyle went over to him. "Either you put it on, or I do."

"Just..." Bodie swallowed whatever he had been about to say, sighed and tucked his arm in the support. "All right?"

"How you've managed to get it this sling so filthy this fast is beyond me," said Doyle, fiddling with it until he was satisfied Bodie's arm was fully supported. "Where are the pills the hospital gave you?"

"I don't need - "

"Antibiotics. Don't be a prat." Doyle fished in the pockets of Bodie's cream jacket and rattled the small tub of pills, before reading the instructions, then counted the pills to see how many Bodie had missed. He poured the dregs of his long-cold tea into the scummy remains in Bodie's mug. "Here, take two, now."

"You're spoiling me." But Bodie swallowed the pills down without the benefit of the liquid refreshment offered to him.

"I thought you SAS blokes were used to roughing it. Hedgehog pie, nettle sandwiches and a quick sprint up Snowdon before breakfast. Now take two of these," said Doyle, who had been doing some further investigation of Bodie's pockets, unnoticed by their owner.

"Doyle, I - " As before, Bodie thought the better of it, sighed, and swallowed the pills dry. "Satisfied?"

Doyle brushed a hand over the top of Bodie's head, giving him a gentle pat. "It's a start. You want some fresh tea?"

Bodie shook his head, then glanced up, faintly puzzled. "You don't have to wait on me."

"In your dreams," scoffed Doyle. He reseated himself on the opposite side of the small table and went back to reading files. "If I'd been quicker off the mark you wouldn't be sitting there with a hole in your shoulder," he said, several pages later.

"Bollocks," said Bodie trenchantly, glaring at him.

"Can always rely on you for reasoned argument."

"And you to blame yourself for the fact Martin was a double-crossing scumbag. God knows what the Old Man feels like right now. Martin was the first bloke he selected for CI5 and Cowley doesn't give his trust easily."

Doyle sat back and gave a long, slow stretch, mindful of some tender spots, courtesy of said Martin. "I know. Tell you what, we'll buy Cowley a half bottle of Bells Whisky, give him an excuse to have a good rant - not that he needs one."

"What if he makes us drink it?" countered Bodie, but the effort he was making to reply in kind showed.

"I hadn't thought of that." Doyle shot the downbent head another look. He hated seeing Bodie like this. Truth be told, he relied on Bodie to keep him from wallowing and Barry...

Had been a mate.

No wonder Bodie felt so...betrayed. Barry had seen them both through their initial training. He'd always claimed their friendship gave him the edge in workouts. Which it had. That and the fact he was a good twenty years older than them, so it was difficult to convince yourself to go all out. It would have felt like beating up Cowley.

Doyle stared sightlessly at the carbon copy of a three year old report. He would have staked his life on Barry.

He bloody nearly had. Not to mention Bodie's...

Two more files thumped to the floor, Doyle inadvertently adding a carbon smudge to his face.

It wouldn't seem so inexplicable if Barry had sold them out on a point of principle. He could have understood, if not condoned, that. But Barry had murdered two men and tried to kill Cowley just because he didn't think his fucking pension was big enough! As civil servants, if not dressed in pinstripe suits, they could all expect a decent pension, presuming they lived that long. How much money was a friend's life worth?

Doyle glanced up, watching the concentration on Bodie's downbent face. The daft sod was anyones for a Mars bar, but hand him the Crown Jewels and he would be more likely to stuff them in his pocket and forget about them.

Bodie should be taking advantage of his sick-leave to con his current bird into waiting on him hand and foot. Instead, he was sitting here, voluntarily checking Barry's caseload from the year dot to try and establish how long Barry had been selling out the Squad. Bodie thought a lot of Cowley. He'd liked Barry, too. He was looking peaky, the shadows under his eyes like bruises. Though that was probably as much from bruised pride as his shoulder playing up. His own pride was smarting worse than the gravel burns on the heels of his hands. The betrayal of a friend hurt worse than anything.

And thanks to Martin there was no concrete evidence to put a stop to Culbertson.

Anger kept Doyle going for another thirty minutes, before he realised the reason he was so hungry was that he had missed breakfast.

"I'm starving," he said, dropping another file to the floor, "so you must be. You sit tight, I'll go and get provisions. You want anything in particular?"

Bodie shrugged, winced, and returned his attention to the file he was reading.

When Doyle returned, it was with a full carrier bag and two fresh mugs of tea, which he only just avoided spilling as he set them down. "You're lucky to see this lot. I nearly got mugged as I came through the rest room. Load of gannets. Right, sandwiches from that good place off Goodwin Lane. Apple pie and crisps. And a Mars bar."

That made Bodie look up. "Since when have you eaten Mars bars?"

"Since I decided it would be fun to torture you. It's for you, prat. I got ham and salad. The veggies are good for you." Doyle was taking the sandwich out of its paper bag as he spoke, and unfolding the paper napkin.

Bodie studied the minuscule amount of lettuce and tomato floating on top of thick slices of succulent ham, grinned a real Bodie-grin, and took a healthy bite.

"Not bad," he allowed, his jaws moving busily.

Doyle took a slurp of tea and bit into his own sandwich.

By the time Bodie had finished his meal he had perked up enough to remember to steal some of Doyle's crisps.

"We'll need to knock off about four," said Doyle, batting Bodie's hand away, then ruining the effect by pushing the packet across to his partner. "The hospital is letting Cowley out. Well, he's discharging himself. I've arranged for us to pick him up. We'd best get him some food in, too."

"And booze."

"When have you ever known Cowley to have run out of that? But you're right. A bottle of the good stuff. Then you and I can have an Italian at that new place, then off to watch the match - Arsenal and Liverpool. Lucas and McCabe are on obbo. and needed to off-load the tickets."

"United or City?" asked Bodie with the darkest suspicion.

"Once I got it wrong. When we were first teamed. City, of course." Relieved to see the sparkle back in Bodie's eyes, Doyle made no attempt to dodge the cuff to his ear.

oOo

Bodie awoke on a sharp intake of breath and for a moment couldn't place his surroundings, or who lay beside him.

"Relax, you're at my place," said Doyle, his voice husky from sleep.

"Why?" asked Bodie, puzzled.

"You feel asleep over the fettuccine. In the circumstances there didn't seem much point bothering with the match. I'd just about steered you bedwards before you fell asleep again. It's lucky I'd moved from that flat with the spiral staircase," Doyle added, scratching his chest as he sat up

"I'm still fully dressed." Bodie pushed back the duvet because he felt so hot and discovered in the process that Doyle was as naked as the day he had been born, if far hairier.

"Yeah, your valet had the night off. Stop complaining. I took off your shoes and socks, didn't I. I'll bring you in some tea so you can take your pills. And don't even think of arguing. The sooner you're officially back on duty the less likely it is that I'll be teamed with Lewis again."

"Should I be flattered?" wondered Bodie, but he had relaxed back against the pillows.

Doyle left the bed and wandered over to the chest of drawers. "Only if you're really desperate." He scratched a spot high on his cheekbone, beard-shadow increasing his disreputable look. After some rummaging he found clean briefs and socks. "I would say help yourself to anything you need but you've been doing that since the first time I was stupid enough to invite you in. One of these days I'll find out just how many pairs of my socks you've pinched."

"You should use name tags."

"I know just where I'd stick 'em, too. As you can't shower yet because you're supposed to keep those stitches dry you can make the tea. Breakfast, too, if there's anything edible. I can't remember when I last went shopping."

+++

"Why are we buried down in the bowels of Records again?" Dressed in his own cream trousers and jacket, Bodie wore a red T shirt of Doyle's.

"Apart from the fact this is where Cowley wants us to be?"

"Yeah, apart from that. We should be out on the streets."

"On the grounds that little old ladies will be ever so sympathetic when they see your sling? Reminds me, it's time for your next lot of tablets. And save the smart remarks until you can back them up," Doyle anticipated as he got up to collect another box of files. On his way past Bodie he bent and kissed the top of his partner's head, only to freeze two steps later.

The silence seemed to last for a very long time.

"You kissed me." Bodie looked bemused rather than outraged, those ridiculously long eyelashes shading his eyes as he avoided meeting Doyle's gaze.

Doyle shifted his weight from one foot to the next and rubbed the back of his neck. "Yeah, I did. Want me to apologise?"

"Depends why you did it."

Unable to read much from Bodie's expression, but taking comfort from the fact he was still in one piece, and that Bodie hadn't walked out, Doyle took a deep breath and got it over with as quickly as possible.

"It has to do with rotten, you and fancying. Though not necessarily in that order."

"Oh."

"Not the most helpful answer." Doyle shifted his weight again and wondered if he had imagined Bodie checking him out.

"Have you had the urge to kiss me for long?"

"Feels like forever," said Doyle unguardedly.

"Ah. Then you'd best take me home with you and see if I turn into a prince in the morning." On his feet by this time, slowly approaching a retreating Doyle, Bodie slid his arm free of the sling and walked his partner until his back was against the wall. One foot propped against the bottom of the door to the windowless Records room to ensure it stayed closed, he touched Doyle's just-parted mouth with his own.

Afterwards Bodie was prepared to concede that he may have lost control of the situation but at least Ray had had the forethought to stick the back of a chair under the door handle before sinking down onto his knees.

 

THE END

**Author's Note:**

> Completed August 2008


End file.
